"Quite so, Hester; of course. But at the same time a stop must be put to all this nonsense; it cannot be allowed. I have only to look round to take it all in. They are worrying their father into his grave. His position is a very trying one. He has no one whom he can depend on--no one."

"I am alone since poor Julia--"

Aunt Mary and Aunt Hester looked at each other, and they wondered if the terrors of the carving knife were completely forgotten.

"Poor James," said Aunt Mary, recrossing her hands, "is obliged to go to London every morning, from ten till, I may say, half-past six."

"I am never home before seven."

"These girls are their own mistresses; they go out when they like, they order the carriage whenever they like, and they invite here every one it pleases their fancy to invite without consulting their father.

I believe he doesn't even--"

"I know none of the young men who come to my house. All I know of them is that they come from the Southdown Road."

"Don't be so silly, James, put up that handkerchief. Of course, the Southdown Road is one of the great disadvantages of the place. Those villa residences have brought into Southwick a host of people that a man living in a big place like the Manor House cannot know--little people who have--"

"Not two hundred pounds invested--no, nor yet a hundred."

"Well, I don't wish to offend them, I'll say small incomes. They are all devoured with envy, and all they think of is what goes on at the Manor House."

"A lot of penniless young jackanapeses. Every morning I see them at the station watching me over the tops of their newspapers."

"You must understand, Hester, poor James up in London, toiling, not knowing what is going on in his own home; feasting and pleasure going on morning, noon, and, I may say, night, for when James returned home unexpectedly about ten o'clock at night, he found them--how many were there?"

"About a dozen, the others had gone."

"Feasting, drinking his champagne--his very best."

"The last few bottles of '34 port were drunk; the peaches, that the gardener has been forcing so carefully for months past, were all eaten. I returned home unexpectedly; I had intended to spend the night in London--you know I went there to see about starting w.i.l.l.y on the Stock Exchange; he has drawn three thousand more out of the distillery; I hope he won't lose it. Well, I met Berkins in Pall Mall, and he said if I would return by the late train that he would spend the night here, and we would go up to town together in the morning. I suspected nothing; I went into my dining-room, and there I found them all at supper. Had it not been for Berkins it wouldn't have mattered.

He was indignant when he saw one of those jackanapeses with his arm round the back of Grace's chair; he says that such company is not fit for the lady that is going to be his wife; and he now insists on fixing the day, the settlements, and everything, or of breaking off the match."

"Then why don't you fix the day and the settlements?"

"Grace is not willing; she is quite undecided. She says she doesn't know whether she will have him or not. Sally tries to set her against him; she laughs at him, says he is pompous, and imitates him. Of course, it is quite true that he thinks everything he has is betterthan anybody else's. She says he is old, and says that kissing him would be like rubbing your face in a mattress."

"The fact is," said Aunt Mary, "Sally ought to have been a man; had she been a man, it would have been all right."

Aunt Hester, who had spent her life in a vicarage, glanced uneasily at her sister, and fidgeted with the papers in her satchel.

"I suppose it will be all the same a hundred years hence."

"No, James, it will not," replied Aunt Hester, with unusual determination.

The conversation dropped, and the speakers stared at each other at a loss how to proceed.

"She is a very difficult girl to manage. If it were not for her we could get on very well; it is she who upsets everything. She can't agree with Maggie; they are always quarrelling. The day after the party she threatened to knock her down if she interfered with her young man."

"Is it possible! Did she say that? Well, when it comes to young ladies knocking each other down! Young ladies were very different in my young days. It only proves what I said about Sally--she ought to have been a man, she really ought to have been a man. I see it all; I have only to give one look round to take it all in one glance. When she came to meet me in Brighton I understood it all at once; I saw she could not restrain herself, no powers of self-restraint. Her eyes fixed on every man as if she couldn't see enough of him; her black eyes flashing. I wanted no telling--I saw it all; the moment a young man went by her eyes flashed. Here she was--'Aunt Mary, Aunt Mary, there's Meason, there's Meason, Aunt Mary, Meason, Meason, Aunt Mary.' It is not right, it can't be right; and to my thinking Maggie is just as bad--a little more sly perhaps."

"No, not dear Maggie."

"I say it is not right; girls in good health could not go on like that. If I were you, James, I would take them up to a first-rate London physician, the very best that can be had for money. Those girls are highly organised, highly sensitive; their nerves are highly strung. They want something to bring them down," said Aunt Mary; but catching at that moment sight of her sister's face, she laughed consumedly, and, speaking through her laughter, said, "So-and-so, a first-rate man, I can't think of his name--he will give you the very best advice."

"I think if our dear nieces could be brought to understand the sinfulness of their disobedience. I have here one or two little books which I think it would be advisable for them to read."

"Later on, my dear Hester; the best thing that James can do is to see to their health. No girls in good health could act as they do; it is radically impossible."

"I suppose that is what I must do; I don't know if I shall succeed, but I will try to get them to come up to London and have medical advice. Since the death of poor Julia I have been all alone; my position is a very hard one. I have no one to talk to, to a.s.sist me, to take my place in any way. I am obliged to go to London every day, and I a.s.sure you my heart is all of a flutter in the morning when I take the train, for I don't know what may happen before I return. The girls can do what they like; they are mistresses of this big house, they take the carriage into Brighton when they like, Sally takes the cart. I have thought of getting rid of that cart."

Although pa.s.sionately fond of talking, Aunt Mary would with patience, and even with pleasure, cross her hands and settle herself down to listen to one of Uncle James's interminable lamentations, but Aunt Hester, a nervous and timid creature who talked but little, not only declared that she could not bear to hear the same stories over and over again, but interrupted her brother with firmness and determination. Indeed, it was only on occasion of Uncle James's soliloquies that she had ever shown any strength of will.

"We know very well, James, that your position is a trying one--that since the death of poor Julia you have no one whom you can look to.

There is no use in telling us this over again; it is mere waste of time. What we have to do now is by all means in our power to convince dear Sally of the sinfulness of her conduct, and so strive to bring her back to a state of grace."

"Her spirit must be broken, she must be subdued," interjected Aunt Mary.

"Christ is the real healer, prayer is the true medicine, and by it alone is the troubled spirit soothed."

It being impossible to contravene these opinions, the conversation came to a pause, which was at length interrupted by Mr. Brookes, who through the folds of his handkerchief declared again that it would be all the same a hundred years hence. Even Aunt Mary's realism did not offend Aunt Hester as did this un-Christian philosophy; she gathered her strength for a grave reproof, but was cut short by her sister's laughter. All the teeth were glittering now, and peal after peal of laughter came. Aunt Hester's courage died, and her long, freckled face drooped like a sad flower.

"Now let us hear something about Grace. What about this marriage? Is Berkins as amorous as ever? That man does amuse me--his waistcoat b.u.t.tons are better than any other man's."

"Mary, Mary, I beg of you to remember Mr. Berkins is a man of eight thousand a-year."

"He may make eight thousand a-year, but he has very little money invested," said Aunt Mary.

"That is true," Mr. Brookes replied reflectively, and he was about to rush off into a long financial statement when his sister, who already regretted her joke, checked him with an abrupt question.

"My dear James, is this marriage to be or not to be? That is what I want to know."

"I really can't say, Mary; Sally has contrived to upset her sister; she would have been, I feel sure, glad to marry Mr. Berkins if she had not been upset by Sally."

"Upset by Sally, what do you mean?"

"I told you that Sally tries to turn Berkins into ridicule, laughs at his beard among other things."

"I must see Grace about this," said Aunt Mary; "you must excuse my laughing, but Sally is often very droll."

Choosing the first occasion when Maggie and Sally were absent from the room, Aunt Mary said, "Come, Gracie, dear, tell me about this marriage. I hear that your mind is not made up--that you are not at all decided. This is not acting fairly towards your father. You are placing him in a very false position."

"I don't think so, aunty. No one, so far as I can make out, is either decided or satisfied. Mr. Berkins is not satisfied with the society we see."

"The Southdown Road you mean," interrupted Mr. Brookes, "and very properly, too."

"And father and he cannot agree upon money matters, and I don't like a beard--"

"You never objected to a beard until Sally put you against it."

"Yes, I did, father; I always told you--"